


Keep You Like An Oath

by Green



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abused Stiles, Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Violence, Forced Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mates, Mobster Peter Hale, Non-Graphic Violence, Not between Peter and Stiles, Organized Crime, Peter to the rescue, Sex Worker Stiles Stilinski, The Hale Family (Teen Wolf) Lives, and they lived happily ever after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 13:48:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20565362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/pseuds/Green
Summary: After 7 years in prison, Peter has important matters to attend to — and at the top of his list is the young mate he left behind, unclaimed for their own protection. But, for all his good intentions, Stiles has always needed him — now more than ever.





	Keep You Like An Oath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maladicta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maladicta/gifts).

> John here isn't exactly a bad dad, but he is a really flawed one, and he's out of touch with reality. This story deals with a victim of ongoing domestic violence, even though most of the violence or abuse is off-screen--the fic deals with the aftermath and effects.
> 
> SO many thanks to Twisted_Mind for the summary and tags and even the author note. Thank you to Bunnywest and CinnamonLily for their beta work.
> 
> I am SO SORRY it took this long to finish this story, but here it is. I hope Maladicta likes it. <33 Thank you for supporting Fandom Trumps Hate and Puerto Rico!
> 
> title from Fall Out Boy (again) because why not

Peter has the driver take a detour on the way back home. He hasn't been near his mate in seven years. He just wants to drive by his house. He'll have Derek compile information on him soon, so Peter can see what he's missed, but for now he just wants to see if he can catch a glimpse.

He doesn't know what he's expecting, but it's not the empty driveway, overgrown lawn, or the 'Foreclosure' sign out front.

"Stop here," Peter orders. He gets out of the car and walks up the cracked walkway to the front porch. He peers in the windows. What furniture he sees is covered in sheets, but there's not much. He breathes in, but the scent of his mate is long faded from this place.

"Looking to buy?" a voice asks.

Peter swings around and just barely keeps himself from assuming a defensive stance. He relaxes when he sees an older woman, probably in her seventies, leaning on the porch railing.

"I'm Eunice Walters, I live next door," she explains.

"Peter," he offers. "I've just been living out of town and thought to stop by to visit the Stilinskis while I was in Beacon Hills, but it seems I've missed them."

Ms. Walters nods and tuts. "Poor things. They've had it rough. First Claudia, then John's… problems…"

Alarm bells start going off in Peter's head. When he left, the Stilinski family was happy and whole, and he knew his mate would be okay while he was away. It was one less thing to worry about. "I apologize, but we — John and I fell out of touch seven years ago. Could you tell me what happened?"

"Oh, I guess it won't do any harm. Claudia died about, let's see, six years ago? And losing her just broke her poor husband. He started drinking a lot, you see. At first no one knew, but once he lost his job…" Ms. Walters trails off and sighs. "He found work, of course, as a security guard. But then there was a robbery and the poor man got shot."

Peter feels cold. "Was he killed?"

"No. But the hospital bills stacked up, of course. They lost the house not that long ago. Oh, but I think I heard he's in rehab now."

"What about Stiles?" Peter asks numbly.

"Poor boy. In and out of foster care for awhile, but he's aged out of the system now. I don't know where he is, though."

"Thank you, Ms. Walters," Peter says, not really paying attention as he walks back to the waiting car.

"Where to next, boss?" his driver asks.

Peter wants to spend the rest of the day searching for his mate, but he knows without any clues, he has very little chance of finding him. Besides, he has other responsibilities. His sister is waiting for him. 

"Talia's house," he says. If he knows his sister at all, there's a party waiting for him. While he's there, he'll tell Talia what he should have in the first place, and get Derek started on finding Stiles.

His wolf is whining as they pull away from the former Stilinski home. He remembers the last time he saw Stiles. It was from afar, of course, because he wasn't about to complicate a small boy's life, especially not such a bright, happy child who only knew love and happiness. Maybe he should've asked Talia to keep tabs on him while Peter was away. At the time, it hadn't seemed necessary. Peter didn't want anyone to get a whiff of his greatest weakness, either. The last thing he wanted was for Stiles to get hurt because of who Peter was.

He tries not to think of all the horrible things that could have happened to his beautiful mate in foster care. Yes, there were good homes. But there were plenty of bad ones, too, and if Peter had known at the time, he would've made sure Stiles went to someone in the Family.

But Stiles is eighteen now. How is he surviving? A dozen possible scenarios run through Peter's head, none of them good.

He's so caught up in his concern that he doesn't notice they've arrived until the car stops and the driver opens his door.

He shakes off his worry and gets out of the car. He makes his way up the walkway but doesn't make it to the front door. His closest family is pouring out, greeting him, hugging and scenting him. Talia is front and center, and she gives him a hug that makes his ribs creak.

He hugs back just as hard. He's missed her. He's missed his pack. Sure, there were Family members on the inside, but it wasn't the same as this. He breathes deeply, his nose tucked into her neck, and swallows back the sob in his throat.

"Uncle Peter," he hears, and when he turns to Derek, he sees immediately how much he's grown up. He's not lanky or awkward-looking anymore. He's a man, full grown, and Peter feels a swell of pride in his nephew. It's not that he hadn't noticed when Derek visited him, but somehow seeing him on the outside makes the changes more noticeable.

Peter pulls Derek in for a hug and is surprised when his nephew clings to him like he's missed him the most out of everyone. Peter knows Derek's grateful for what he did, and before he went away, they were as close as brothers. Derek hugs and hugs him, not seeming to want to let go.

Peter just goes with it. He looks at Talia over Derek's shoulder and she's smiling.

"Don't keep him all to yourself," Laura says, and Peter hears Cora murmur her own annoyance.

"Plenty of time to catch up later," Peter whispers in Derek's ear. Derek reluctantly pulls away, and when Peter looks into his eyes he sees that they're wet and red. Peter squeezes his shoulder. "I'll find you soon. I need your help with something, too." 

Derek nods seriously.

Then Laura and Cora are throwing themselves into his arms and he catches them easily.

"Wow, Peter, prison made you bulk up," Cora says, touching his shoulders and neck. "You're all muscle now."

Someone hisses, as if no one is supposed to mention the P-word, but Peter laughs. "Prison was good for one thing, then." Good for more than that, too. He's expanded his influence. He has a group of ex-cons working for him on the outside now, too, doing all kinds of things. "It'll be nice to work from home again, though."

Laughter rolls through the group. Talia's husband, Joe, sticks out his hand. "Good to have you back, Peter."

Peter rolls his eyes and pulls Joe in for a hug, too. He's missed his entire pack, and that includes his brother-in-law. They may have had their differences in the past, but Peter understands the importance of family. Of pack. Maybe now more than ever.

* * *

After dinner and maybe too many wolfsbane-infused drinks, Peter pulls Derek aside into the soundproofed library. "I need your help."

"Okay, yes," Derek tells him.

Peter huffs. "You don't know what it is yet."

"I'd do anything you want," Derek says earnestly. "I owe you so much."

Peter reels him in for another hug. "You paid me back by living your life. That's what I wanted."

"I missed you so much," Derek says. His words are muffled in Peter's shoulder.

Peter's heart softens. "I missed you too, pup."

Derek finally pulls back. His eyes are wet but he doesn't try to hide it. "Just tell me what you need, though. You know I'll help."

Peter nods, then turns around and starts to pace. "I have to admit something, and I don't want it going beyond this room. I'll tell Talia soon, but not yet. I don't want this getting out until I know for sure what's going on."

Derek frowns but nods. "Okay."

"About ten years ago, I found my mate."

Derek's eyes go large. "What?"

"He was young. Too young, and human, and his father was law enforcement. I decided it was better to just… keep an eye on him from afar. When I left, he was happy and healthy. He had a good home life. He had some problems in school, but he-" Peter cuts himself off and sighs. Derek doesn't need to know Stiles's entire childhood, just the important bits. "But today I found out his mother died shortly after I went in, and his father had enough problems that my mate ended up in foster care."

"We'll get him out, or place him with a good family?" Derek asks immediately. "It wouldn't even be hard."

"Unfortunately, it's too late for that," Peter says. "He's eighteen now. He aged out of the system. And I have no idea where he went."

Derek sets his jaw and nods. "I'll find him."

Peter clasps him on the shoulder. "I know you will." He doesn't mention that he's worried what he'll find. The world can be a rough place. Peter knows that intimately. There's no telling what's happened to his clever, beautiful mate. 

"You're worried, though," Derek murmurs.

"Of course I am," Peter says, just shy of snapping. Derek doesn't deserve his temper. He sighs. "But I know we'll get him back."

"Does he know you're his mate?" Derek asks. "Does he know anything about us?"

"I never introduced myself," Peter says. "I thought he'd be safer if I kept him out of my life until he was old enough to make that decision himself."

"And no one else knows, either?" Derek asks.

Peter shakes his head. "It was the safest way. You know how it is. Everyone listening at keyholes, trying to get one up on each other. If someone from another Family found out…"

Derek nods. "You didn't want anything happening to him or his family."

"Did I make the right call?" Peter wonders.

"Are you asking me?"

Peter huffs. "No. I'm just… wondering. If I'd done things differently, maybe Stiles would have had a better childhood."

"His name is Stiles?"

Peter nods. "Stiles Stilinski. I'll give you all the information I have on him."

"I'll find him," Derek says again.

Peter nods. He knows he can count on his nephew.

* * *

**Three Days Later**

The bruise on his arm isn't that bad. When Stiles rubs arnica gel on it, it doesn't really hurt, either. No big deal.

The mark below his eye has faded to a jaundice-yellow. It'll disappear easily under makeup.

He looks at the clock. He has just enough time to get ready and catch the bus, as long as he stays on task and doesn't get distracted. Charles told him the big boss, the actual owner, is coming to the club tonight, and he's been on edge ever since he found out. 

Charles always gets testy about work. There's never enough money, never enough business. Sometimes, that's Stiles's fault. Well, Stiles isn't going to lose them any business tonight. He'll do whatever Charles says, keep him happy.

His phone rings as he's applying a second coat of mascara. He'd let it go to voicemail, but he recognizes the ringtone. 

"Dad, hi!" Stiles says cheerfully into the phone.

"Hey, kiddo," John Stilinski says. He sounds tired. 

"We still on for tomorrow?" Stiles asks. 

"Yep, yeah, I'm looking forward to seeing you."

Stiles hasn't seen his father in weeks, but the facility is two hours away, and Charles rarely lets him have enough free time to go. That, or his dad isn't up to seeing him. There'd been an incident last month, and while Stiles doesn't have the details, he knows his dad had privileges taken away for two weeks, including visitation.

"Good. Um, me too," Stiles says, and hopes his face looks presentable by the next day.

It's awkward talking to his dad these days. They really don't have anything in common, nothing but pain and heartache. They've led different lives for some time.

Stiles looks at the time, and bites his lip. "I gotta go to work, Dad."

"I just…" He just called, but Stiles knows how the conversation would go. It's been the same for years.

"I know," Stiles says. 

His father sighs over the line. "I'll let you go then. Everything okay, though?"

Stiles huffs. "Everything's fine." For a moment, he makes himself believe it. His dad can't see him, can't see his bruised face, but he can hear his voice and Stiles knows how to modulate that. "Don't worry about me. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Alright. Tomorrow. I love you."

"Love you too, Dad." Stiles ends the call before his father starts apologizing again.

Now he's running late. Charles isn't going to like it. Stiles needs to finish getting ready.

His makeup covers the bruises easily, and a good powder sets it in place. Stiles grabs his bag — he'll change once he gets to work. Better to get there sooner than later.

Unfortunately, he's already missed the bus. There's another coming along soon, but that's fifteen more minutes he's going to be late.

He breathes in and out slowly, keeping himself calm. Maybe Charles will be too busy with the club owner to notice Stiles. 

Maybe Stiles is kidding himself.

The second bus comes along early for once, and Stiles breathes out in relief. He gets on and finds an empty seat. He clutches his bag and wistfully thinks of Roscoe, the old Jeep his dad sold a few years back. It had been Claudia's, and Stiles was supposed to get it when he turned sixteen. 

Stiles forgets the exact reason why Roscoe'd been sold. There was always another bill, another tight spot they needed to get out of. His dad sold the Jeep long before Stiles was old enough to drive it.

A wave of irritation runs through him. He hates when he gets mad at his father, but sometimes he can't help it. So many things went wrong after Claudia died, and his dad's reaction made everything ten times worse. Stiles had been grieving too, but instead of relying on each other, Stiles had been forced to rely on himself while John had turned to a bottle. If his dad had just held it together, for Stiles's sake, then everything would have been different. It wasn't his fault he got shot, but everything else?

Sometimes Stiles finds himself thinking, What if? What if he'd never gone into foster care? What if he'd had some support from his dad? What if John never ended up in the bottom of a bottle?

What if Stiles had never met Charles, what if he hadn't needed to?

His eye makeup is probably running now. Stiles sniffs quietly and blots at his eyes with his fingertips. It's stupid to think of all this now. The bus is pulling up to his stop, and he's got to go.

It could be worse. He's always telling himself that. It's the only way to get through.

He hurries down the sidewalk and to the club. Takes a deep breath before going in through the back. He's hoping nobody notices him, but his luck today really sucks.

"You're fucking late," Charles hisses, grabbing his arm. It's right over the bruise that's already there, and Stiles can't help but wince. "The boss is in the club, I told him I had a treat for him, and you're fucking late!"

"My dad called," Stiles says, trying to stay calm and explain.

"I don't want a fucking excuse," Charles says. His eyes glow blue and Stiles swallows hard. 

Stiles hadn't known about werewolves before he met Charles. Now he knows, and he knows Charles flashing his eyes is a bad sign. 

"I'm sorry."

Charles glares at him. "You're gonna put on a good show for the boss, you hear me?"

Stiles nods quickly, wincing again when Charles squeezes his arm tighter. 

"Good. Get dressed. And if he likes you, I want you to be _nice_," Charles tells him.

Nice means a personal dance in the back room. Nice means letting himself get groped — or more than just groped. "I don't-"

"You'll do what he wants you to do," Charles hisses. He stares at Stiles for a long minute until Stiles nods. Charles likes it when he lowers his eyes and acts submissive, so he does that, too. He thinks that'll get Charles to leave him alone, but he's not done. "And put on the red riding hood costume, he'll get a kick out of that."

"Is he… like you?" Stiles whispers.

Charles narrows his eyes. "Yes."

Stiles swallows. Great, just what he needs. Another werewolf.

"Now hurry up." Charles lets go of him and turns around. He leaves the dressing room and Stiles lets out a breath. 

Stiles is glad no one is around. He looks into the mirror and swears. His makeup is smeared. 

He hurries and gets dressed as fast as he can. He fixes his face. He tries not to think about what he'll have to do if the owner 'likes' him.

* * *

As beautiful as he is, as delicious as he smells, Peter can't help but notice Stiles's injuries. They're cleverly hidden beneath makeup, but Peter has a werewolf's nose. He can smell the pain beneath the smiles.

He can't concentrate on the show. Yes, Stiles is lithe and moves like the professional dancer he is. But Peter can only wonder about the clumsy kid he used to catch glimpses of, the one with the wide smiles who looked at the world with fascination in his bright eyes.

This boy's eyes are dull and he smells anxious. It's hard not to be distracted, wondering what Stiles is thinking.

When Stiles dances closer, Peter slides a hundred dollar bill along the platform he's on. Stiles sees it, gives him a (fake) smile, and picks it up. He does a shimmy with his hips before the money disappears within what's left of his clothing.

Peter needs to talk to him. To be alone with him. He's afraid to spook the boy, though.

He's wishes he'd brought Derek along with him for moral support. He's about three seconds away from grabbing Stiles from the stage and running away with him. He'd probably get away with it, this being Peter's club, but the last thing he wants to do is spook Stiles.

He's been through enough already.

Peter looks over at his manager, Charles something? He nods. Lets him know he'll be asking for some private time with Stiles.

He'll get to the bottom of his boy's pain soon. 

When Stiles's song is over, he collects his money and then scurries away backstage. Peter gets out of his chair and walks that way to see if he can hear what his manager says to his mate.

Unfortunately, the music in the club plus some soundproofing along the walls in the place make it impossible to hear everything. Charles appears in front of him within a few minutes though, a smarmy smile on his face.

"You like him, then?" Charles asks. "I can set up a private dance."

Peter tilts his head and controls the beat of his heart. "That would be acceptable."

Charles gestures to a hallway and some doors. "Just go on back to the Deluxe room and I'll send him to you. Don't worry, he… understands. And he's in the know."

Peter nods. Having his mate already know about werewolves will make certain revelations easier.

He's not oblivious to the fact that Charles is deliberately distracting him from the changes he's made to the club while Peter was in prison, or from questioning him about the current state of the club's finances.

He lets him. Getting closer to Stiles is his priority at the moment.

"I'll be waiting for him," Peter finally says after a long pause, and Charles exhales in relief. Peter gives him a slight, patronizing smile, then saunters back to the 'Deluxe' room.

As soon as he steps into it, all he can smell is sex. There's no window to open, either, to air out the stale stench of other men's… completion. He doesn't even dare to sit down, so he's just standing with his back to the door when Stiles comes in.

There are mirrors on the walls, so Peter can see his face clearly. Stiles looks like he's rather be anywhere else.

"You must be Stiles," Peter says, turning slowly and smiling at his mate.

Stiles's own smile is wobbly and uncertain. "And you're Peter Hale. Charles says you own the club."

"That's right."

"It's, um. Nice?"

Peter throws his head back and laughs. "It really isn't. When I left, it was a jazz club. I painstakingly decorated it myself in the art deco style. And then _someone_ came along and turned it into _this_."

Stiles's eyebrows have been climbing since Peter started talking, and when he's done he huffs. "That's… awful. I'm sorry."

"Why, did you do it?" Peter teases.

Stiles flushes so that it's visible even beneath the heavy makeup on his face.

"Want to get out of here?" Peter asks. "The smell alone is offensive."

Stiles wrinkles his nose. "It's bad, but it's probably worse for you."

"I'd love to get to know you, but this place is hardly conducive to that."

There's something in Stiles's eyes that's too jaded for his youth. "So where do you want to take me? Your penthouse, or some fancy hotel room somewhere?"

"There's a bookstore downtown that serves hot drinks and a quiet atmosphere." Peter says. "Perfect for conversations."

"I'm not that interesting with my clothes on," Stiles says wryly.

"I find that hard to believe," Peter says.

Stiles searches his face, and he must see something that that convinces him because he nods. "Don't tell Charles that's where you're taking me, though."

"Possessive, is he?"

"He's sort of my boyfriend," Stiles mutters.

"And yet he sent you in here anyway," Peter says. He knows the type. Controlling, eager to whore out his 'property', for a price. Unwilling to let go, though. Well, if Charles is the one behind the pain, Stiles won't have to worry about him for long.

Stiles shrugs, looking down at the floor.

"Leave Charles to me," Peter says. He shouldn't grin with so many teeth, shouldn't show that side of himself this early, but it seems to settle Stiles so much that he smiles back. 

"Yeah, okay."

* * *

Stiles aches, feeling much older than eighteen. He slips into the luxury car in the parking lot and is at least thankful he doesn't have to go home with Charles.

Peter has a driver, who might double as a body guard? It's unclear. He introduces himself with a nod and no name, and the only thing he says is, 'Right, Boss' when Peter directs him downtown.

"Are you sure this place is still open?" Stiles says, breaking the silence. It's getting late and most reputable businesses in Beacon Hills are closed or in the process.

But Peter smiles. It's not the smile from before — this one is kind and a little amused. "I called ahead to make sure."

Does that mean he just checked to see, or did he order it open? 

Stiles isn't dumb. He can tell Peter is connected, and it's not like he's never heard of the Hales. Not Peter, in particular, but the Hales themselves are the biggest crime family in the area. So when Peter guides him inside the bookstore and it's empty except for them and the proprietor, he's not even surprised.

And on the way in, Peter puts his hand at the back of Stiles's neck. It should feel oppressive. Too possessive. But at the same moment, the pain drains right out of Stiles's body and he sighs in relief.

You never know how much pain you're in until suddenly you aren't anymore.

Stiles's eyes water and he looks away. He doesn't know how to thank Peter for that. He almost forgot werewolves had that power. Charles has only used it on him once or twice, always begrudgingly. Peter seems to do it without thought. Like this kindness is just something he does. 

When Stiles does look at him, Peter's not even paying attention to him. Or so it seems. When Stiles inches closer, Peter realizes it immediately and suddenly all that attention is back on him like it never left.

"Yes, Stiles?" Peter asks.

"Thank you," Stiles says quietly.

There's a question in Peter's eyes and Stiles shrugs a shoulder. "Charles gave me a job when no one else would." He also gave him food to eat when he was hungry and a roof over his head. He should be grateful — Charles says _that_ enough.

Peter tilts his head, a certain glint in his eye. Stiles hasn't known him long enough to figure out what it means. But then it's gone, and Peter smiles at him again, the soft one that probably has no business being on a mobster's face. "You're hungry, aren't you?"

Stiles's stomach isn't growling audibly, but it is empty. He hasn't eaten anything since late morning. He nods and Peter looks over Stiles's shoulder. Soon, the bookstore owner is bringing him a simple menu.

"They have delicious pastries, or so I've heard, but you should eat something substantial first, like soup and a sandwich."

Stiles blinks. "Why don't you just order for me?" he says. It's not quite sarcastic. 

Peter raises a brow. "Would you rather I do that?"

Stiles looks down at this menu, feeling his cheeks heat. "Sorry," he mumbles.

Peter's voice is gentle when he says, "Just order what you want."

Stiles is so hungry. He takes Peter's advice and goes for a small soup and sandwich with a mini Danish on the side.

He hands the menu back to the proprietor and starts browsing books with Peter. He can't afford to buy any at the moment — the money he's saved is going toward his trip tomorrow to see his father. 

He looks at his watch. It's late, and if he's going to get an early start tomorrow, he really should get some sleep. Somewhere. But going 'home' to Charles is the last thing he wants to do. Maybe he'll just stay up all night and sleep on the bus to the Center.

"Plans?" Peter asks. "You keep looking at your watch."

"Oh, no, not tonight," Stiles says. "Tomorrow. I'm… I was just trying to see how much sleep I need but I decided to sleep on the bus tomorrow. I'm going out of town."

"You could use my car and driver," Peter says. As if this is a thing you just offer random strippers.

"I couldn't do that," Stiles says, eyes wide.

"You can," Peter says firmly. "I'd feel much better if I knew you were safe."

Stiles bites his bottom lip. "I have to see my dad tomorrow."

Peter nods. "Okay."

"It's a long drive," Stiles tries to say.

"It will give my driver something to do. I was planning to take one of my other cars out." He pauses and then smiles secretively. "I have some things to take care of tomorrow, myself."

It's rude, but Stiles is genuinely curious. "How many cars do you have?"

Peter blinks. "Just the five," he says, and it's impossible to tell if he's embarrassed that it's a high number or a low one.

Stiles nods, not knowing how to respond to that. He knew Peter was rich. He just… forgot for a moment. "I was supposed to get my mom's Jeep when I turned sixteen, but shit happened and we had to sell it."

He's less upset that he has no vehicle. More upset that he couldn't keep that part of his mom.

"The food is coming," Peter says, and gently steers Stiles toward a table. 

Stiles gazes wistfully at the books, but he can't afford them anyway. It was nice to look, though.

"I saw you were drawn to the occult books," Peter says. "Are you a practitioner?"

Stiles blinks. "Hmm?" His sandwich looks delicious. The first bite is perfect. The coolness of the tomato against the crunch of the lettuce and the subtle warmth of the bacon is such a good combination. 

When he looks at Peter, he sees a frown on his face.

"What?" Stiles asks with his mouthful of food.

"Nothing. Just eat as much as you want, sweetheart. We can order more if you want."

Stiles is about to snark that he's not anybody's sweetheart, but the food is so good, and he hasn't had anything all day but a protein bar in the morning and some salted nuts and pretzels while he was at work.

Halfway through his soup (homemade potato and cheese) and sandwich, Peter presses a cup of lemonade into his hand, which Stiles drinks gratefully. He's probably dehydrated. He can't remember when he last had something to drink other than coffee.

He nods, wanting to thank Peter, but he keeps ending up with more food in his mouth, which makes it hard to talk. Peter doesn't seem to mind.

Finally, once Stiles has had his fill, he's able to ask some questions that have been burning in his mind. "Why a strip club? I mean, why do you own it?" _Why would you want to?_ is the unspoken question, but he doesn't want to offend the man who is ostensibly his boss. Well, his boss's boss.

"When I left it in Charles's hands, it was a jazz club." Peter's frowning slightly. "It was my favorite property. I had it done just right. Art deco decor, stage for piano and acts… It was just the way I wanted it to be. I spent a good many nights there, just enjoying the ambiance. Did you know I even ordered an original vintage microphone? A Shure 730B, the kind Billie Holiday sang with. It had this incredible round design with a crystal core. Gorgeous." He frowns. "I hope Charles didn't sell it."

Stiles bites his lip worriedly. "I haven't seen it."

Peter nods, then shrugs. "Not your fault. I can procure another."

"So you're going to turn it back into a... jazz lounge?" Sties laughs nervously. "Am I out of a job?"

"Darling, if you want a job with me, you will have one."

Stiles eyes him. "Doing what?"

"Don't worry about that now," Peter says, as if it's not important. 

"Kinda hard not to worry about where my next meal is coming from," Stiles mutters, but of course Peter hears him. 

"You won't go hungry again. I promise you," Peter tells him.

Stiles is almost afraid to look at him, feeling as vulnerable as he does. He doesn't know if he can trust Peter. Doesn't know why he's being so nice, or what he wants.

"And if someone lays a hand on you again in a way you don't want, I'll kill them," Peter promises.

Stiles sucks in a breath. His heart starts beating erratically. "What do you want?"

Peter frowns. "I want you to be safe and happy."

"Why?" Stiles asks. "Why do you care about me?"

Peter just looks at him for a long moment, making Stiles feel a little too _seen_. Then he smiles, albeit sadly. "I can't tell you that, not yet. But I'll tell you soon. In the meantime, I'd like to get to know you better, and to give you a chance to know me."

"Charles said you were in prison," Stiles blurts, and immediately cringes. He doesn't think it's something you're supposed to just say, but he has to know.

"I was," Peter says.

"For something bad?" Stiles asks.

Peter looks thoughtful. "It depends which side of the story you hear."

"Are you gonna tell me you didn't do it, whatever it was?"

Peter smiles wryly. "I suppose I could. The particular crime I was convicted of… I didn't do it. But I've done much worse things no one ever caught me for, so I guess it evens out in the end."

Stiles should feel… scared? But he doesn't. He knows evil. He knows people who hurt others just to do it, just because they want to and it makes them feel like a bigger person. He's living with one of them, in fact. But Peter doesn't have that same aura about him. He's not…

Stiles doesn't know exactly what Peter is, but Stiles doesn't think he's in actual danger from him. Which is something he wishes he could say about his own boyfriend.

"My dad is in rehab," Stiles says, changing the subject. "I'm visiting him tomorrow, that's why I'm borrowing your car. If that's still okay?"

"Perfectly fine," Peter says, smiling and not mentioning prison or crimes again.

Stiles nods and gives him a small smile. "Thank you. Again."

"I'd like to see you again when you get back," Peter tells him. "We could go to dinner, or a show?"

"There's a new Spider-Man movie I haven't had a chance to see yet," Stiles says, shyer than usual. "It's nothing fancy, but-"

"That's perfectly fine," Peter assures him again. 

"Okay," Stiles says, smiling tentatively but genuinely.

* * *

As usual, Stiles and his father have little to talk about during the visit. Stiles makes up for it by babbling about inconsequential things.

Pretending everything is fine is exhausting, though. 

"Tell me something new," John says, and Stiles wracks his brain.

"I met a mobster," Stiles tells him. He's not sure what makes him say it, but Peter's on his mind. "He's… nice."

John's eyebrows go up. "What's his name?"

"Peter Hale," Stiles says. "He, um, he bought me dinner last night. And let me borrow his car and driver today." He smiles. "Kinda lux, you know? He probably doesn't miss it at all. He said he's got five cars."

"There's a name I haven't heard in some time," John says. 

Stiles swallows. "Oh?" He hopes his father isn't about to tell him what a bad guy Peter is. Not that it would matter to him. So far, he's been more decent to him than his own boyfriend. 

"He's Talia Hale's little brother," John says. "There's connected and then there's actual Family, Stiles. You need to be careful."

Stiles never put the Hale names together before, but he knows who Talia Hale is; she's the matriarch or leader (or possibly alpha, now that he thinks about it) of the Hale Family. He's never met her before, but he remembers cops his father knew grumbling about her influence in everything in the state. 

"But the Hales… they aren't like the Argents or the Calaveras, right?" Stiles asks.

John sighs. "No, you're right. The Hales have never even been suspected of human trafficking, for one thing, and they always give back to the community. More than just as a show, I mean. The Argents and Calaveras of course have their charity projects, but they're mostly — probably — money laundering schemes we haven't caught them at yet."

Years later, his father still talks like he's part of law enforcement. Stiles isn't sure if he's proud of that or if it just makes him sad.

"Do you know anything about Peter, in particular?" Stiles asks. He tries to sound like the answer doesn't mean as much as it really does.

"No, sorry. We think he may have been Talia's enforcer for awhile, back when the Family was still small and struggling, but the last I heard, Peter Hale went to prison for manslaughter over some kind of…" John trails off. "Hmm, I don't remember what it was, exactly. It had something to do with one of Talia's kids and an Argent. But it's been so long, and I wasn't…"

As far as Stiles has been able to tell, Peter went to prison about the same time as Claudia was starting to show signs of illness. John was busy.

"Well, he's out now," Stiles says. "I just met him last night. He was really… nice?"

"Nice isn't a word I'd ever apply a mob enforcer, but I suppose he could put on the charm like anyone else."

Stiles looks down. "He was good to me."

John sighs. "Well, it's not like I can do anything about who you're friends with while I'm in here."

"I'm an adult," Stiles says evenly. "You couldn't do anything anyway."

"Look, son, I swear, when I get out of here, things will be different. We'll be a family again, okay? I'll get a job and get us a nice apartment where we can be together and work on the whole father-son bond thing. Okay?"

His dad looks so hopeful, and Stiles knows this is one of the things he's been holding onto to get himself through his mandatory rehab time. It's better than prison, he guesses, and he's glad a judge took pity on him and put him in a rehab facility rather than jail after he fucked up so monumentally that last time.

But Stiles isn't under the same delusion that John will get out of rehab and suddenly their lives will be changed. Nothing is going to change. John will probably go back to drinking, and Stiles will be stuck stripping and living with Charles, and that's just life. Maybe this is as good as it gets.

"Okay, Dad," Stiles says quietly. 

"Just a few more weeks," John says.

Stiles doesn't point out that John will need to stay in a halfway house when he gets out. He just nods and goes along with his dad's plans. For now.

By the time the visit is over, Stiles is emotionally exhausted. He settles in the back of Peter's car and sighs. He's asleep before he can say where to go.

* * *

Peter shows up at the property almost as soon as he sees Stiles ride away in his car. He's got Derek and Cora with him as a show of strength.

It's Charles and Stiles's home for the moment, but Talia owns the property and it's not as if Charles has been paying steady rent. Talia has been letting it slide since Charles manages Peter's club, but Peter's about to give him an eviction notice.

The eviction is even legal. Sort of.

"What's going on, boss?" Charles asks when Peter shows up at his door.

Peter smiles, all teeth and no nonsense. "You've made some mistakes, Charles. I figure you can make it up to me, but we need to start with your punishment before you can make it right again."

So many lies. Charles will never make up for hurting Peter's mate. But Peter's going to make him think he can.

Charles's eyes go wide. "Mistakes, sir?"

Peter gives him a level look. "You ruined my club. That was my favorite club."

Charles just gapes as Peter, Derek, and Cora strong-arm their way inside. 

Peter nods at his nephew and niece. "Gather Stiles's things while I have a talk with Charles, will you?"

Charles frowns. "Stiles?"

"He's moving out. How long ago did you find him? How long have you been making him service your important clients?"

"Not long, um." Charles shuffles from foot to foot until Peter presses him against the wall with a hand at his throat. 

"He's only just eighteen. You found him when he was, what, seventeen? Younger?"

Charles tries to speak but finds it difficult with Peter's hand pinning him by the throat. Peter reluctantly loosens his hold so he can speak. "He was a runaway. I was just helping him out!"

"He needed stability. Family," Peter growls.

"I did! I gave him that!" Charles says frantically.

Peter narrows his eyes. "You crossed a line the Hales don't cross. We don't deal in the prostitution of minors, and you'd better pray I don't find out you tried to put him on film or-"

"I didn't, I swear, I didn't!" Charles exclaims. His heart is pounding from fear already so it's hard to tell if he's lying. 

Peter tilts his head. "But you did hurt him."

"I smacked him around a little, but he's a mouthy little shit!" Charles says. "He deserved it every time!"

Peter backhands him in the face. "You're going to stay away from him."

"But work, he works for me," Charles says.

"Not anymore. You're not a manager anymore. You're going to report to Laura Hale for your next job, and if I see you anywhere near Stiles again, you're dead."

"Why do you even care?" Charles asks. "He's nothing!"

"If anyone is 'nothing' here, it's you, Charles," Peter says. He's restraining himself fiercely. All he wants to do is tear this asshole apart.

Derek shows up in the doorway. Peter can hear Cora upstairs finishing up packing Stiles's things.

"Everything okay?" Derek asks.

"I don't think we have to worry about body disposal today," Peter says lightly. He looks at Charles. "Right?"

Charles goes pale and shakes his head quickly.

Peter smiles blandly as if he didn't just practically threaten murder. "Good. Laura will settle you into your new place. I'm sure you'll enjoy your roommates."

Laura's already been asked to put Charles in the riskiest jobs they have, and to have him stay with some frankly scary people who will keep an eye on him when he's not working.

Charles doesn't look happy, but what is he going to do?

Peter nods to himself. "Now, on the subject of my club: where's all the furniture and equipment you took out of there? If you sold it, you're in even worse trouble."

"Storage building," Charles offers quickly. "The key's in my wallet."

Derek quickly gets the key and Peter goes to see what's taking Cora so long. Once he's in the room, though, he has to stop. It smells of Stiles and fear and pain. He bites back a snarl and wonders if he shouldn't just kill Charles after all.

"I'm almost done," Cora says. "I think I've got everything of his. His scent is everywhere."

"Good job, Cora."

Peter turns around and leaves the bedroom. He can't stand the smell anymore, can't wait to escape. 

His mate has been through so much, and has been going through it all alone. Peter's going to make sure that never happens again.

* * *

Stiles falls asleep on the way home from seeing his dad, and then when he wakes up, he's not exactly home at all.

"Um?" he says to the driver. They're parked in front of a medium-sized apartment building, somewhere a little too fancy for Stiles's budget. Okay, a _lot_ too fancy.

The driver smiles. "Mr. Hale instructed me to bring you here. You're to meet him in the lobby."

And suddenly Stiles is much more nervous. "Do you know why?"

"I just follow orders," the driver says. 

Stiles nods and sits back in the seat without getting out yet, looking at the building. "Um, do you know who lives here?"

"A lot of people, I imagine," the driver says blandly. "Now go on. It won't do to keep Mr. Hale waiting."

Stiles nods and then the driver gets out to hold the door open for him. Stiles steels himself, then walks inside.

The lobby isn't opulent, but it's not exactly shit, either. He sees Peter right away. He's talking with two other people, and they are talking to a woman behind the front desk. As soon as Stiles walks in, he looks up, though. He smiles, and something inside Stiles goes still and calm again.

"Stiles, come here, I want you to meet some of my family. And Ms. Barnes, too."

The woman behind the desk shakes her head. "You can just call me Mandy."

"Why are we here?" Stiles blurts out.

Peter looks surprised, but he smiles and shakes his head. "I'll tell you in a minute. First, this is Derek. He's my nephew. And my niece Cora. They've been waiting all day to meet you."

"Why?" Stiles asks. The word jumps out of him before he can remember his manners, but then he flushes and shakes his head. "I mean, um. Hi. I'm Stiles." He doesn't extend his hand, but he gives a little wave. Derek and Cora don't seem to find it rude at all.

In fact, Derek and Cora are both smiling warmly at him, not looking like dangerous mobsters at all. But Stiles knows they have to be… something. The Hale family isn't exactly sunshine and daisies. 

They've both very attractive, so much that Stiles just stares back and forth between them for a long, embarrassing moment. Then he says, "Wow, those genes are something. You could all be models."

Peter throws his head back and laughs, giving Stiles another beautiful thing to look at. It's hard to look away. Seeing Peter laugh genuinely makes Stiles feel something he can't put a name to, like he's full and light at the same time.

"It's good to meet you," Cora says, wrenching his attention away from Peter's dancing eyes. She looks amused, as well. And curious about him, which makes no sense, but maybe she's not used to her uncle taking an interest in a random stripper and wants to know what's special about him.

Stiles would love to know the answer to that, too.

Derek nods at him, watching him with just as much curiosity. He doesn't seem too talkative. It makes Stiles want to prod him a little until he says something. 

But Peter grabs his attention again when he holds out an elbow and asks, "Shall we?" like some Victorian gentleman.

"I guess?" Stiles says, and tucks his hand into the crook of his arm.

To his niece and nephew, Peter says, "I'll catch up with you later. Thank you for your help today."

And then Stiles is being led to a shiny elevator, alone with Peter, and for some reason that makes his heart beat faster. That, and the fact that Peter looks at him like he's special and not some eighteen year old fuck-up just trying to scrape by to live.

"Charles and I had a long talk today," Peter says. "He had to relocate for his new job, and since we couldn't possibly leave one of our employees without a place to live, I found this apartment for you."

"Um…?" Which is about all Stiles can think to say. It's a lot of information at once. Charles is gone? Charles isn't his boss anymore? And now Stiles has a new apartment? He couldn't even afford the old place, how can he possibly pay the rent somewhere like this? "I don't have enough money for this," he admits quietly.

Peter squeezes his hand as the elevator comes to a stop on the 7th floor. "You don't have to worry about the money. It comes with the job I'm offering you."

The apartment is one of two on the floor. Which means it's huge. Peter opens the door with a keycard and leads Stiles inside, flipping on lights as he goes.

It's partially furnished, with parquet flooring and arched doorways. It looks like something out of Architectural Digest, but that's not what captures Stiles's attention.

There are a few boxes, enough to hold everything he owns — which isn't much, to be fair — with his name scribbled in black marker across the cardboard.

Stiles looks at Peter, his thoughts at war. "Kind of high-handed of you."

Peter frowns slightly but Stiles brushes past him to open one of the boxes. Sure enough, the things inside are his own.

"What do you want?" Stiles asks him. Because rich, connected men (well, he's more than connected, isn't he?) do not suddenly solve his problems without wanting something in return. "You haven't even test-driven the merchandise to see if I'm worth all this."

Peter's eyes flash and Stiles sucks in a breath and braces himself for a blow.

Immediately, Peter looks away, frowning and looking… sick. "I'm sorry. I'm angry, but not- I'm not going to hurt you, Stiles."

"Uh huh," Stiles says. He's heard that before.

Peter looks at him intently. "You aren't merchandise."

"I'm a stripper. I've whored on the side. Pretty sure that makes me-"

"Stop," Peter says, looking pained. "You don't have to do anything you don't want. I didn't find you this apartment so you'd sleep with me. I'm offering you a job, yes, but it's not sex work. The Hales don't involve themselves in prostitution, and Charles had no right to put you in situations where you were…" He trails of and closes his eyes. When he looks at Stiles again, he seems genuinely apologetic. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that."

"What did you do with Charles?" Stiles asks. "You relocated him? Why?"

"Do you really care what happens to him?" Peter asks curiously.

Stiles thinks of all the pain and shame Charles brought into his life and shakes his head.

Peter nods as though he answered fully. "He's on a new job. He's being punished for a variety of sins, not least of which is treating you the way he did."

"Why do you care about me?" Stiles asks.

Peter opens his mouth but is slow to answer. "...I like you, Stiles."

Stiles is sure he should be running the other way. Peter is, after all, a mobster who just got out of prison. Sure, he's intelligent and gorgeous and rich as fuck, but he's dangerous and Stiles doesn't know what he's getting himself into. But on the other hand, Peter seems genuine. Maybe he's being honest when he says he likes him. Maybe that's all there is to it, and Stiles can relax and enjoy the attention.

"I like you, too," Stiles admits. 

Peter flashes him a smile. "What do you think of the apartment, then?"

"It's a lot," Stiles says. "It feels like it's too much for little ole me. But I'll take it if you're offering."

Peter holds out the keycard. "It's all yours."

Maybe just until Peter gets bored of him, but for now, Stiles has a nice roof over his head and… "Wait, what about a job? Do I still have my job at the club even though Charles is gone?"

Charles had threatened him too many times with losing his only source of income. 

"You'll have a different job," Peter says.

Stiles swallows the dry lump in his throat. "What?"

"How do you like old jazz?" Peter asks with a smile.

"You're changing it back? So… no more stripping?"

"Not unless you want to. And then you'll have to find a job elsewhere. But at my club, if you want to, you would be a host."

Stiles doesn't want to strip anymore. Sure, it was fun sometimes, and he loved the other dancers like family. But it was a job he was more or less forced into, and with the option to get out of it, he's definitely happy to let it go. "What will happen to the other dancers?"

"We'll help them find employment elsewhere, or with us, whichever they prefer. I'm not a monster, Stiles."

"I didn't think you were," Stiles says, quietly thrilled that his friends will be okay. "Thank you."

"Go ahead and look around some more. Then I thought we'd go pick up some things from storage for the club's new grand reopening," Peter says. "That is, if you want to come. You're more than welcome to stay here and rest. You've already had a long day."

Stiles is tired, it's true, but he's also curious about Peter and the club. "I'll go with you."

Peter beams at him as though he's been given a gift. Does he really like Stiles's company so much?

Flustered by that smile, Stiles turns away and looks at the rest of the apartment. It has a large kitchen with plenty of counter space, perfect for baking. It's been some time since Stiles has been able to take some time and just make bread and cookies and pies. It used to be his stress reliever, back before foster care. Now, looking at the granite countertops, it's all he can think of.

There's lots of space, too. The windows are tall and let in lots of natural light. It doesn't feel claustrophobic the way Charles's apartment sometimes felt, though that may have been because of who he shared it with.

"I haven't lived alone before," Stiles murmurs. He turns to Peter, whose eyes are on him. "I'm not sure how to do that."

He went from living with his father, to crowded foster homes, to the street and crashing on random people's sofas, or beds in exchange for sex, to living with Charles. He's never had a chance to see what it's like to just be on his own, as much as he's had to rely on himself anyway.

"It can be lonely, but it's nice to have space to yourself sometimes," Peter replies.

"You live alone?" Stiles asks. It's probably too nosy of a question, but since they're on the subject, he figures it might be okay.

"Right now I'm staying with my sister. But before I went away, I lived alone, yes."

"Are you going to get your own place or stay with her?"

Peter looks thoughtful. "I have my own place. Several. I've just been away from my pack for some time, and it feels… comforting. To have them around me again. I'm sure that'll turn into annoyance soon enough, though," he says with a smile. "My sister and I are two very strong personalities. We can't cohabitate for long."

Stiles nods. "My dad has this fantasy that when he gets out of rehab, we'll just fall back together into this fairytale suburban family life." He walks into the bedroom and looks at the queen-sized mattress. He'll have to get sheets and blankets, he thinks vaguely. 

"You don't want to live with him again?" Peter asks carefully.

"I don't want to be there when he inevitably falls off the wagon and turns back into a sad, lonely drunk again," Stiles says plainly.

There's a chair in the corner and Peter sits down in it, leaning forward, focusing entirely on Stiles. Stiles sighs and sits on the bed.

Peter frowns. "You don't think his sobriety will last?"

"Oh, I don't think he'll start drinking again right away," Stiles says. He feels guilty for thinking this, but he knows his dad. Knows how he works. "Everything would be great for awhile, and I'd probably start buying into it, getting hopeful, and then reality would crash down on him and he'd start drinking a little, just to take the edge off. Just to help him cope, or to sleep. And then…" Stiles sighs. "I know all this because he's not facing up to reality right now, isn't taking responsibility for all the shit that's happened, and until he does that, he's just a time bomb. It's not a matter of _if_, just a matter of _when_."

"It sounds like you've been through this with him before," Peter murmurs. He sounds so gentle, like he thinks Stiles is hurt and doesn't want to inflict more pain. 

Stiles blinks back tears. Maybe it's the kindness in Peter's voice. It can't be that he's sad about his dad, because he's had years to toughen up over the reality of _that_ shitshow.

"I used to dream about him getting himself back together and rescuing me from foster care. Or off the street. Hell, at first, with Charles, I had these visions of dad coming in to take me out of _that_. But… unlike my father, I know the difference between fantasy and reality." He hangs his head a moment, then wipes the tears away and smiles. "Anyway, you know, whatever. It's not something I can change. Dad's just himself. I love him, but he's not exactly rock solid."

If Peter pities him, he does a good job of hiding it. "I'm sorry I didn't find you sooner," he murmurs. It doesn't make a lot of sense, but the sentiment is nice.

Stiles shrugs. He takes his phone out and starts making a list of things to buy with his next paycheck. Things like sheets. Soap. Towels. Food for the kitchen. A vacuum cleaner?

"Are you ready to go?" Peter asks.

Stiles looks up and blinks. He almost forgot. "Storage, right?"

"You're welcome to stay here," Peter tells him. "I can get Derek to help me."

Stiles is a little afraid to stay in the apartment alone. He's not sure why. Maybe it's the newness of it. "No, I'll come with you."

* * *

Peter stops at a restaurant first. "You're hungry," he says when Stiles gives him a questioning look.

Stiles stops short of saying, _Dude, I'm always hungry._ He doesn't want to remind Peter of his circumstances. It's embarrassing.

The sun is starting to go down, so Stiles figures that means dinner. He didn't have breakfast or lunch. But dinner is more expensive. He orders water when the waitress asks, and looks on the menu for something cheap.

"Order whatever you want," Peter says, as if he can read Stiles's mind.

Stiles thins his lips and shakes his head. "It's okay."

"I'm obscenely rich," Peter tells him with a smile. "Really. Get what you want."

Stiles wonders if Peter wants to be his sugar daddy. He's not opposed, not really. It's a better situation than he's been in for some time. He doesn't bring it up, though. Now doesn't really seem like the time.

He ends up ordering a giant fancy burger with thick-cut fries and ketchup. It takes awhile to come, the restaurant being reasonably busy, but Peter doesn't so much as snark at the waitress when he sees her again. It's a big difference from Charles, who treated wait staff and clerks (and Stiles) like garbage.

Peter somehow puts out signals that are the opposite of red flags. It's refreshing, and makes Stiles wonder more about him. Here's a man who was in prison for, what, seven years? Who is an active part of a big-time crime family. Who doesn't apologize for his name or what he is. And yet he's decent, and not just to Stiles. Not just to get what he wants. 

Stiles wants to get to know more about him. He wants to see how far that kindness really goes down inside him. 

"You're quiet," Peter says once they're out of the restaurant and driving to the storage building.

"Digesting," Stiles says. He smiles tentatively. "What are you going to do with the stuff you find?"

"Have it sent back to the club," Peter answers immediately. 

"So you're serious about changing it back?" Stiles asks. "I never saw it before. What was it like?"

"Very atmospheric," Peter tells him. "A good place to go at the end of a long day, just to relax and unwind."

"Plenty of people say that about the club as it is now," Stiles says jokingly.

Peter snorts. "Let's just say I prefer it the other way."

Stiles isn't sure if that means the man didn't like his dancing or what. Or maybe he just wants him to himself. Which might be a nice change. Charles was possessive, but more in a 'you won't leave me' way than in a 'no one else can touch you' way. In fact, he'd encouraged others to touch Stiles, as long as there was money or favors involved.

Peter slants a look in his direction. "Are you alright, sweetheart?"

Stiles must have zoned out while thinking about the past again. "Yeah, sorry. Are we there yet?" The car has stopped.

"This is it here," Peter says, nodding at the block of buildings to the side.

Stiles covers a yawn. It's been a long day. 

"Do you want to stay in the car?" Peter asks gently. "You could stretch out in the seat here."

"And miss out on your fancy jazz club stuff? No way," Stiles says, and musters enough energy to hop out of the car. 

"If you say so," Peter says. He pulls a slip of paper out of his wallet. "I have the combination to the door here. It's unit 14."

The storage unit is big and temperature controlled to keep the stored things in good shape. At least Charles wasn't stupid enough to ruin Peter's stuff.

Stiles wonders absently if he qualifies as 'Peter's stuff'. Or if he will, soon. He wants to know, and he thinks he'll ask Peter soon what he wants from him. The not knowing is making Stiles anxious.

He whistles low when he sees the inside of the unit. "That's a lot of stuff." Not only are there tables and chairs and musical equipment, but decorative architectural details that would be hung on the walls and ceiling to give the club a different feel. It's all very old fashioned, but in a classy way. Stiles finds he likes what he sees, and can't wait to see it all back where it belongs.

"I'm happy to see almost everything, if not all if it, is here," Peter says, stepping between some boxes and looking behind a blanket to peer at a larger piece of furniture.

"It's going to look great when it's back in place," Stiles says.

Peter gets a proud look on his face. "Yes, I think so, too."

* * *

On the way back to Stiles's apartment, the boy falls asleep. His head lolls until it's resting on Peter's shoulder. This close, the scent of _mate_ is incredibly strong, so strong that Peter only wants to pull Stiles closer until his own scent is mixed in, so that they smell more like each other. 

He quietly directs the driver to go around the block once they reach their destination, not wanting the ride to end. Stiles stirs a little bit at the words, but doesn't quite wake. Peter knows he can't keep the boy with him in the car all night, but he wishes he could.

Eventually they're in front of the apartment building again. Peter's tempted to go for another long ride, but he knows restful sleep in a bed is better than nodding off in a car. 

Peter gently touches Stiles's hair. "Wake up, sweetheart. Time to go home."

Stiles makes a sound of protest, still asleep, and tries to burrow against Peter's chest. 

Peter smiles, but ends up shaking the boy's shoulder. "Come on, baby. Wake up."

"Ugh. Don't wanna," Stiles mutters. But he picks his head up and looks around. Then he looks at Peter. "Did I sleep on you?"

"Nothing was done against my will, I assure you." Peter smiles at Stiles's slightly mussed hair and the way he rubs at his eyes. 

Stiles looks out the window at the building. "I don't even have sheets yet."

Peter hadn't thought of that. He should have already provided what Stiles needs. He's been so focused on spending time with his mate that he forgot to focus on the practicalities. 

"I'll have someone get you some tomorrow," Peter tells him, taking his phone out and sending a text. "What else do you need?"

Stiles's eyes are wide. He bites at his lip. "Um."

Peter waits patiently for an answer.

"I was going to get things once I got my next paycheck," Stiles mutters. He's not looking at Peter. He smells embarrassed. That won't do.

"Tell me what things and I'll make sure you get them. As soon as possible," Peter adds, and watches as Stiles takes his phone from his pocket. 

"I started making a list…" The boy turns the phone so Peter can see.

The list isn't long, but from what Peter can see, it's just what Stiles considers necessities and could include a lot more. He smiles when he sees the 'vacuum cleaner???' entry. "We'll get all of that and then some. Don't worry. You won't be without soap for long. In the meantime, would you like to spend the night somewhere slightly more furnished?"

It's dark in the car; the only light comes from the streetlamp on the side of the road. But Peter can make out Stiles's worried features perfectly, and he can smell his sudden unease.

Peter quickly speaks to alleviate it. "You can spend the night in the Hale's suite in the hotel down the street. No one will bother you. I'm not trying to get you into bed with me, Stiles, I just thought you might want to sleep somewhere with fresh linens and pillows. Plus you can call room service and get something to eat. I know you're hungry."

Stiles swallows hard. "Okay. But… why aren't you trying to get me into bed with you?"

Peter blinks. "You don't want to have sex with me tonight, do you?"

"Um," Stiles says, and bites at his lip. "I mean, I could?"

It breaks Peter's heart. "Darling, I only want a completely willing, enthusiastic partner. Yes, I want you. But not like this."

Stiles is tired. The scent of his exhaustion is thick in the car. He's also confused, and slightly upset, and other things Peter can't parse yet. 

"So you just want to take me somewhere to sleep?" Stiles asks, obviously seeking some clarity. 

Peter is going to have to tell him he's his mate soon, or else Stiles will just continue to be confused. But he's not ready. He needs a plan, a way to reveal it without scaring Stiles or making him angry. And Peter is certain he'll be angry. Hurt, too. How could he not? Peter could have spared him years of misery, but didn't. It doesn't matter why Peter didn't save Stiles sooner. Stiles is his responsibility. His happiness should be his number one priority. And yet Stiles lost so much, including stability Peter could have given him, and ended up doing things he never wanted to do just to survive.

"Peter?" Stiles asks. His eyes are drooping again.

Back to himself, Peter nods. "Yes. I just want you to get some restful sleep, and a shower with soap and shampoo, and good food. I'm not trying to take advantage, I promise."

Stiles leans in then and hugs Peter. "Thank you."

Peter wraps his arms around Stiles and hugs back. Stiles makes a soft, pleased sound. 

"You give good hugs," Stiles says. He pulls away and Peter reluctantly lets go.

"You're welcome to them at any time," Peter tells him. Then he directs the driver to pull farther up the street to the hotel.

* * *

A week later, Stiles is still confused. Peter hasn't so much as attempted a kiss, but he's made sure Stiles's apartment is well stocked and furnished and he has everything he'd ever need and then some. His new job so far has consisted of watching people bring Peter's jazz club back to life and hanging out with Peter.

It's all they're doing. Talking. Hanging out. Getting to know each other.

Hugging, occasionally, at the end of the day.

It's nice, but Stiles has no idea what Peter _wants_ from him.

And then one day Charles shows up. Peter's not there — he went out earlier, said he had some business, and would be back in time for lunch. Stiles sees Charles and doesn't know what to do. Part of him wants to text Peter and ask him to come back, but Peter's business is probably important and Stiles has dealt with Charles for some time. He can handle this.

Charles walks into the club, looking around with narrowed eyes, and then zeroes in on Stiles.

Stiles freezes. Charles stalks forward, eyes flashing, a mean smile on his face.

The club is empty except for them. Stiles told the workers to take an early lunch, and now he's alone with Charles, and he's not sure what he's going to do. Charles has a familiar look in his eyes, the kind of calm brutality that always preceded a beating.

"What are you doing here?" Stiles manages.

"I came to get what's mine," Charles says. "What's _owed_ me."

Stiles tries to swallow. His heart is pounding so loudly he can hear it. He's cornered and he knows it. Charles smiles wider because he knows it, too.

"Just go," Stiles tries to say. "Peter will be back soon." He hopes it's not a lie.

"Which is why you're coming with me," Charles says. "It wouldn't do if our reunion was interrupted." He reaches out and grabs Stiles's arm and yanks him close. It happens too fast to get away.

"No," Stiles say weakly. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

Charles backhands him for that. It doesn't hurt, not yet. Stiles blinks back tears from the shock of it.

"You've forgotten who you belong to," Charles snarls. His eyes flash again, and Stiles starts to scream for help.

Charles hits him more. Stiles doesn't stop yelling. He kicks out at Charles, tries to pull away, but the man is a werewolf, he's much too strong to fight against. Charles drags him outside to a car. Everything is happening too fast. Stiles is crying and nearly hyperventilating, and he has no idea what's going to happen. He's never seen Charles so coldly angry before.

Charles shoves him into the car but then there is a loud sound that shakes Stiles to his core. Shakes Charles apparently, too, because he doesn't reappear.

And then Peter is gently helping Stiles out again. When Stiles staggers and nearly falls, Peter picks him up and carries him inside. They pass by Derek, and Peter tells him something Stiles can't make out, and Stiles realizes he's safe.

He's safe. Peter saved him. Stiles clings to Peter then and starts to cry, big wracking sobs that shake his whole body, but he can't seem to stop.

"It's alright, sweetheart. I've got you," Peter tells him. Inside the club, there is a new sumptuously upholstered lounge, and that is where Peter sits down with him. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here in time. You're hurt. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," Stiles manages to say. He pulls back just a little to look into Peter's worried face.

Peter tilts Stiles's chin to look at him and winces. "I should have killed him weeks ago." He touches the throbbing parts of Stiles's face and pulls the pain away.

"There's still time," Stiles says, not really joking.

Peter nods seriously. "I'm just going to talk to him first so he knows _why_ he's dying."

"Why?" Stiles echoes, wanting to know, himself.

"I'm so sorry I didn't save you before," Peter says. He leans in and kisses Stiles's forehead. "I'm so sorry for everything you've been through. I'll make up for it, I swear it."

Stiles shakes his head, not understanding what he's hearing. "What?"

"Got him," Derek says, dragging a beaten Charles in front of them. He looks half-dead already.

Peter pulls away from Stiles to nod at his nephew. "Thank you, Derek."

Stiles has never seen Charles like this, so… bloody. And yet Stiles is still afraid. He leans back into Peter's side, his eyes never leaving the man who hurt him, and says, "What are you going to do?"

Charles coughs and spits blood onto the floor. It's a good thing they're changing out the floors soon. But then Charles lets out a little laugh, and Stiles's blood runs cold. He's not defeated. He's just got a little blood on him. He's a werewolf. He's going to be fine.

"This is over him?" Charles asks incredulously. "_Stiles_? He's nothing, a dirty little street whore I fixed up."

Peter pats Stiles's hand and stands to walk over to where Derek is holding Charles up by the back of his neck. Stiles immediately misses his presence. 

He doesn't want to be scared, but he is. He doesn't want to be here. He wants to be home, in his new apartment, maybe with Peter to hold him some more and pull the pain away from his face. It's starting to throb again.

"You fucked up," Derek growls. 

Peter punches Charles in the stomach and says, "Don't talk about him like that."

"What? Why?" Charles asks once he gets his breath again. He's doubled over but he doesn't shut up. Stiles wishes he could turn his ears off, but he hears it anyway. "The only thing Stiles is good for is his ass. He's a _whore_ Peter. Why do you give a fuck?"

Peter takes Charles by the throat and lifts him up to eye level. "He's my _mate_."

Stiles doesn't fully understand, but Charles seems to. His eyes go wide and scared at that. "I-"

"Shut up," Peter says. "I gave you a second chance, one I shouldn't have bothered with, I see. I thought Stiles might feel some lingering affection for you."

"I don't," Stiles can't help but say. His mind is reeling though. Did Peter mean it? Is Stiles really his mate? His _mate_, as in special forever werewolf soulmate? He's heard the word a few times since he's found out about werewolves, but he's never gotten a full explanation. He only knows the concept is sacred, and special, even though he's not sure what it entails.

Peter looks at him, and for some reason there is an apology in his eyes.

Stiles isn't sure what he needs in return, so he just nods and tries to smile.

Peter winces. He still must look like hell, then. Peter turns back to Charles and snarls. "You're going to die. Understand?"

Charles is crying, but Stiles has seen him cry before. The first time he beat Stiles, Charles was so sorry afterwards. He said he never meant to hurt him, that he didn't know his own strength, that he was _so sorry_. He was sweet and brought Stiles flowers and curly fries and now Stiles can't even stand to look at what was once his favorite food. Because of Charles and his lies and his abuse. 

Now, seeing Charles cry does nothing except make Stiles feel sick again. He's not sure if Charles really deserves to die, not because of some shit he did to Stiles, but he also knows he can't exactly have him arrested or anything. Charles is a werewolf, he'll just break away and come after Stiles again. 

Stiles shudders at the thought. He just doesn't want to be scared anymore. 

Peter is calling his name and Stiles looks up from wringing his hands. Peter looks at him so gently. "Do you want to be here for this?"

Stiles feels like crying again. Does he want to see Charles die? Maybe he needs to, so he knows for sure. But if Peter says he'll kill him, Stiles feels like he will. He can trust Peter. So he shakes his head. "I'm going to go clean up. Do it fast and get him out of here."

He stands up from the chaise lounge. He wobbles a little, but that's mostly the adrenaline, he thinks. He holds on to the wall as he makes his way to the bathroom at the back of the club. Behind him, he hears Charles's cries cut off abruptly. 

Stiles leans against the countertop and washes blood from his face. His cheek is starting to swell. He looks like hell. He digs beneath the vanity for his emergency makeup bag and finds it. On autopilot, he starts fixing his face, but it's a lost cause. He needs some gel ice packs in a few places to keep the swelling down. 

He hurts everywhere. Not just where Charles grabbed or hit him, but his whole body feels tired and sore. His heart hurts. Not for Charles, but…

He doesn't know why.

He slides to the floor, bag still in hand, and starts to cry again, though he tries to be as quiet about it as he can.

Peter finds him right after that. He knocks on the door lightly.

Stiles doesn't move from the floor. "It's not locked," he says, sniffling.

"Are you ready to leave?" Peter asks once he opens the door. 

Stiles looks up at him and says, "I'm a mess."

"You'll heal," Peter says, and the double meaning makes Stiles feel better.

"Yeah."

"Let's go out to the car," Peter says. "We can go out the back. Derek is cleaning up the front."

Stiles lets Peter help him to his feet, and then he leans against him. Peter wraps an arm around him gently. 

"Okay?" Peter asks.

Stiles hums an affirmative and doesn't say anything else until they're in the car.

Peter holds him as they drive. Stiles isn't sure where they're going. They pass by the street to Stiles's apartment, and Stiles is a little relieved. He doesn't want to be alone.

He doesn't want to be around a lot of people, though, either. He just wants Peter, really. 

"I am so sorry," Peter says, echoing what he said in the club. He sounds like he means it, like he's torn up inside, but Stiles still doesn't understand why.

"Am I really your mate?" Stiles's voice is weak and raspy from crying.

From the back of the car, he sees the driver jerk and almost turn around. So it's news to him, too. That almost makes Stiles want to laugh.

"Let's talk about this once we're alone," Peter says. To the driver, he says, "Not a word."

The driver nods and relaxes. Stiles doesn't even know his name. He wonders if Peter does. He also wonders why Peter doesn't want anyone to know Stiles is his mate. Is he ashamed of him?

Stiles tries to think about it from Peter's point of view. Maybe he doesn't want a barely legal, barely surviving stripper as his mate. Maybe Stiles is a disgrace. What if Peter thinks he unworthy? What if he doesn't want his pack finding out because of the things he's done?

Peter holds him closer. "Shh. It's okay, darling. It's going to be okay."

Right, because Peter can smell his emotions. Great. Stiles probably smells like a big stink bomb of negativity right now. Though Peter probably thinks it's because he almost got himself killed or something.

The car stops in front of a large building Stiles recognizes. Hell, everyone in town knows the Rock Plaza. It's the tallest building in town. "Why are we here?" Stiles asks, looking at Peter. 

Peter nods at the building. "My penthouse. Is that okay? I didn't think you'd want to be alone, but I can take you back to yours."

Stiles practically clings to Peter's arm. "No, this is fine. I just didn't know you lived here."

Peter smiles. "The building is named for me. Why not?"

Right, Peter means 'rock' or something like it, right? Stiles doubts, with Peter's connections, that it's a coincidence. 

"Do you own it?" Stiles asks. 

Peter smiles but doesn't answer. He helps Stiles out of the car and into the building. The man at the front desk doesn't look upset to see Stiles's messed-up face, but then he's probably used to seeing all kinds of things.

They ride a private elevator up to the penthouse. The elevator makes Stiles feel like he's going to throw up, but he manages not to. Once they get inside, he asks for the bathroom first, though.

"Go on. Do you want a shower, darling?" Peter asks gently once he shows the room to him.

Stiles must smell like Charles. He shudders at the thought. He nods and hopes he can hold himself up to wash.

Peter smiles worriedly at him. "I'll get you some fresh clothes."

Stiles hugs himself at the doorway and nods. Then he starts stripping off. His shirt is ruined; there's blood on it. He'd ask for peroxide to try to save it, but he doesn't want to. He doesn't have a large wardrobe, but he would rather not have the shirt he was almost killed in.

In the shower, he can't help but wonder what Charles was going to do with him. His imagination runs wild, so he tries to push the thoughts away with other things. He scrubs at his body, and even though it hurts he scrubs at his face, too. He knows he's taking away the half-botched makeup job he tried at the club, but he doesn't care. Peter can see him as he is.

Peter is a confusing subject. He doesn't know what to do with that, with the whole mate reveal. He's not even a hundred percent sure it's real, after all. But something tells him it is. Why else would Peter show interest in _Stiles_?

He tries applying the mate answer to his previous questions, and he guesses things make sense now. He needs more information, though, because he only has new, more complicated questions. He was confused enough before, and now he's got the whole 'mate' thing added to the mix.

He's still shaky when he gets out of the shower, but he can walk okay and no longer feels like he's going to throw up. He could probably sleep for a week, though.

There are clothes on the vanity, waiting for him. He didn't even hear Peter come into the bathroom while he was showering. 

The shirt he pulls on is too wide across the shoulders and hangs on him a bit. The sweatpants are loose but the right length. He figures they are Peter's clothes, and he knows werewolves are funny about who shares their scent. Charles had-

He doesn't want to think about Charles.

He walks out of the bathroom with his dirty clothes balled up against his chest. Peter's waiting for him, so he says, "Got a garbage bag for these?"

After the clothes are disposed of, Peter leads him to the living room. The room is sleek but comfortable, a lot like Peter. It makes Stiles smile. Peter catches his expression and smiles back. "Do you like it?"

Stiles nods and lets Peter situate him on the smaller end of the sectional. It's a lot more comfortable than its clean edges suggest. Peter wraps him up in a blanket, which is soft and homey, like something a grandmother might crochet, and sits beside him, close and secure.

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions," Peter says. "I didn't want to talk in the car because I've been keeping the fact that you're my mate a secret for years. Habit, I guess, but I just want you to be safe. If it gets out, you'd be in danger. Especially since you're human."

Stiles blinks. "Years?"

"Yes," Peter replies with a wince. "Which… It's why I'm so sorry. I should have at least told someone before I was sent away, but you seemed happy and your family life was good and… I shouldn't have assumed everything would stay the same."

"I don't understand," Stiles says. "You couldn't have kept my mom alive. Or my dad from going off the deep end."

"Maybe not," Peter says, taking Stiles's hands in his own. He rubs gently, and his voice is just as tender. "But I could have made things easier for you. You could have been placed with good families, people I know would take care of you right. You would have been brought into the pack earlier. You would have had money, and a decent job if you'd wanted one when you were older, or hell, you should be in college, Stiles. You _never_ would have been in a situation where someone like Charles was your only answer."

"I had choices," Stiles says. "Not good ones, but I made the best decisions I could." Charles had been preferable to the street, that's all. 

"I know. I'm proud of you for surviving. I'm just saying, I could have been there for you. You could have had such a better childhood, sweetheart, and it's my fault, my bad choices, that got in the way."

"It doesn't matter," Stiles decides. "It's too late to apologize-"

Peter's face does something complicated and heartbreaking, so Stiles rushes to explain.

"I mean it's too late to worry about things that have already happened. It's over, it happened, and now we… I mean, if you want, we can have a fresh start."

"I don't think I'll ever stop feeling guilty for all you went through," Peter says. "But a fresh start sounds incredible."

Sitles manages a smile and cuddles against Peter for a moment. Then he says, "Can I have some ice for my face?"

Peter jolts. "Of course. I'm sorry. I'm not used to taking care of humans." He hurriedly gets up and comes back from the kitchen quickly with a bulging towel. "Ice."

Stiles does not laugh at him or the vast amount of ice Peter brought. He uses it anyway, and it helps, though he almost drops it a couple of times. 

Peter draws pain from him every time he winces. It's sweet, and Stiles hasn't had a lot of experience with _sweet_.

"So, you're not wanting a sugar baby after all," Stiles muses to himself. He's getting sleepy, his tongue getting loose. "I wondered what you wanted from me."

"Any and everything you're willing to give me," Peter says immediately.

"I think I'd like to be boyfriends first," Stiles says around a yawn. "If you'll have me."

"Do you want to go to bed?" Peter asks. "You can sleep as long as you want."

Stiles shakes his head. "Nah, I can sleep here. If you stay."

"I'll always stay," Peter says, as if reciting an oath.

"Should probably stay out of prison from here on out," Stiles teases him.

"Nothing will keep us apart again," Peter says. He leans in and kisses Stiles's forehead.

Stiles's eyelids begin to droop. He falls asleep with his hand in Peter's, and his last thought is that maybe the mate thing won't be so bad.

* * *

Sometime during the night, Stiles is convinced to use the bed. When Peter goes to move away, leaving Stiles by himself, Stiles grabs his sleeve and tugs him back into place. Apparently Stiles doesn't want to sleep alone, so Peter stays. At first, he just sits beside Stiles as he sleeps, watching over him and marveling at how lucky he is. 

But then he starts to droop himself, having had little sleep himself. Stiles wakes up enough to give him a disapproving look.

"Just lie down with me. You'll get a sore neck like that."

Peter smiles. "Okay."

They are both fully clothed except for their shoes, but Peter doesn't mind and it's not uncomfortable. He somehow ends up with Stiles snoring lightly in his arms, and it's something he's grateful for. He doesn't know if he deserves a mate, let alone one as beautiful and clever as Stiles, but this is what the universe gave him. A blessing.

He wishes he could stay awake to savor the closeness, but he falls asleep. 

He wakes about two hours later to soft whimpering. Stiles is having a nightmare. After the day he had with Charles, it's no wonder. Peter holds him and strokes his hair. 

"Hey, shh, it's okay. It's just a dream. Wake up, baby," Peter coaxes. 

Stiles wakes on a gasp and it seems to take him a few long moments to realize where he is. Once he does, though, all the tension leaves his body and he snuggles close, trembling. Peter can smell the salt of his tears, but he doesn't mention it. Just keeps holding on, the way he will continue to do so until Stiles doesn't want him to anymore.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Peter asks.

"No," Stiles sniffles. "Just… just this is good."

So Peter tightens his arms around his mate and eventually the trembling stops. Stiles turns in Peter's arms and kisses his cheek. 

"Not that I'm objecting, but what was that for?" Peter asks.

Stiles huffs a soft laugh. "For everything. For saving me, and staying with me, and… I don't know. I just like this. A lot."

"You can have as much of this as you can stand," Peter tells him seriously.

Stiles rolls a little until he's lying on top of Peter. Peter's body immediately responds, but he does his best to keep still and let Stiles set the pace, or just test the waters, if that's what he's doing. 

"What about this?" Stiles asks. "Can I have this, too?" Then he rolls his body, pressing against Peter tantalizingly.

"As long as it's more than gratitude," Peter says once he can think again. Really, Stiles's moves ought to be banned, they're so distracting.

It's not quite dawn, but there's light starting to come in through the windows. Peter can see Stiles's expression clearly when he smiles, and that seems to light the room further. 

"I like you," Stiles tells him. "A lot, actually. If we have sex, it should be because we both want it."

Peter smiles. "That's what I was going to say."

"I figured," Stiles murmurs, and leans down to kiss him. 

It's not gentle, but it's not dominating, either. There's a question on Stiles's lips, and Peter does his best to answer it. Their mouths move against each other, and Stiles does a fancy hip roll again, and Peter is reduced to a panting, sex-starved puddle before it's done.

"So, do you?" Stiles asks, and Peter is so far from conversational skills now that he only can stare at Stiles. Stiles grins. "I'm gonna take that as a yes for now, but you're welcome to stop me any time, here."

"Why would I ever want to stop you?" Peter manages.

Stiles kisses him again, and this time Peter doesn't hold back. Hearing Stiles's breathy moan of desire is enough to make Peter smirk against his mouth.

At least he's not the only one tangled up in lust, here.

"Tell me what you want," Peter says, and Stiles moans again.

"Just this. Feeling you against me," Stiles says, and rolls his hips again so that their cocks — hard and straining — press against each other.

Peter groans. Yes, good. This is all good. Being this close to his mate, tasting his desire in the air, kissing the breath from his mouth — this is all he needs.

They move against each other, slow and easy at first, then increasingly frantic as they chase their pleasure. Stiles feels incredible against him, and Peter might be embarrassed later at how quickly he comes, but right now it's all about the rising tension and heat and absolute want between them. He manages to get his cock out of his pants first, but that's all the thought in it. He's glad he did, though. Now Stiles will carry his scent for much longer. 

Stiles cries out when he comes, and it's the most beautiful sound Peter's ever heard. 

"That's it, that's right," Peter whispers, and kisses him through it.

Stiles starts to giggle. He hides his face in Peter's neck and laughs, bringing a smile to Peter's face as well.

"Okay there?" Peter asks fondly.

"That was..." Stiles says, and starts giggling again. "I feel so _good_."

Peter holds him close and rolls them on their sides. "Good. That's all I wanted."

Stiles looks at him seriously once the laughter subsides. "Thank you."

Peter strokes his hair and pulls a little of the soreness from his body. "I don't know what you're thanking me for, but you're welcome."

"You didn't push for more." Stiles looks away. "I'm not used to that."

Peter sets his jaw, angry for Stiles and incredibly pissed at anyone who ever took advantage of him. He's still so young, really. Stiles may think he's tough and jaded, but there's still a vulnerability there, and Peter wants to protect him.

The moment passes, and he realizes Stiles went still and wary from Peter's anger. 

"I'm just mad at people who hurt you, baby," Peter says. He kisses Stiles's forehead. "Not you. Okay?"

"Sorry," Stiles whispers.

"Don't apologize, sweetheart, it's not your fault. You don't know me much yet, or how my anger manifests. I can promise I'll never hurt you, but you aren't going to believe me until I prove it to you. And even then, you might tense when I'm mad. That's just a natural reaction after what you've been through."

"It's stupid," Stiles says with a frown. 

"It's really not," Peter says, and holds him close. He's going to have to get Stiles a therapist, someone Stiles can trust. Ideally, someone who works with survivors of abuse and domestic violence.

"We're all sticky now," Stiles says, probably trying to lighten the mood. 

"I have a tub big enough for two," Peter tells him.

Stiles smiles, and that is worth everything.

* * *

**Two Months Later**

It's Stiles's birthday, and he never thought he'd be spending it like this. Happy. Safe. In love.

The private reopening of Peter's club, renamed _The Gardenia Lounge_, is an event everyone wants to attend, but the guest list was carefully curated. The grand _public_ reopening will happen the next night, but tonight is just for Peter's pack. 

Stiles has gotten to know them in the past two months. Talia, especially. She is everything and nothing like what he expected of the matriarch of a big crime family. She's brutal and beautiful and treats Stiles like a well-loved son. Her children treat him like a new brother, too; Laura especially has taken a shine to him.

And Peter hasn't even told them Stiles is his mate. He's making the announcement tonight, just to the select guests at the club.

It would be an understatement to say Stiles is anxious. So far, everyone is taking his presence in Peter's life well, but what will they think once they know it's a permanent thing? Stiles is working on his self esteem, but he's under no delusions of what he is. Or was.

Peter sneaks an arm around his waist. "You're worrying too hard."

Stiles relaxes a bit, because Peter is looking at him like he hung the moon again, and Stiles always gets a kick of confidence out of that. "Distract me, then."

Peter grins. "We have guests at the moment, but… hmm. Maybe a little distracting is in order."

Laura finds them in the coat room fifteen minutes later. "You know, we can all smell what you're doing in here."

Stiles's face goes hot. Peter is unrepentant, though. "Thank you for waiting, dear. Now shoo."

"Ugh, you two," Laura says, but it's mostly playful and not really all that annoyed.

In the bathroom, Peter and Stiles readjust each other's suits and hair, though they do get distracted every now and then with kissing.

"We should make our grand entrance, I suppose," Peter says with a sigh and a lingering kiss.

Stiles laughs. "They all know we're here."

"Yes, but we should do things properly." Peter's wink shows Stiles just how much he cares about propriety. 

Stiles has mostly forgotten why he was so anxious until they are on stage and Peter is speaking to the crowd.

"...And I'd like to wish my mate a very happy birthday today," he says, and at least three quarters of the crowd go still, those who didn't know yet or hadn't guessed.

Peter kisses the side of Stiles's head while Stiles looks out into their audience, watching carefully for their reactions. This is the first time Peter has claimed Stiles as his mate, and they both know how important it is.

And then suddenly everyone begins to clap, shout, and howl happily, and Stiles feels a warmth bloom in his chest. They don't care who he is, they accept him anyway! He looks at Peter and finds him smiling just for him, and Stiles can't help but kiss him again.

Peter motions someone over and then he ushers Stiles off the stage. A low, slow jazz tune begins to play, and then someone is singing. Cora. She has an amazing voice, though she's told them in no uncertain terms that she will not be making her singing on stage a regular occurrence.

"Dance with me?" Peter asks Stiles.

"Always," Stiles tells him. He wonders if it's too cheesy to say, but Peter just smiles and takes him into his arms.

Tomorrow night, his father will be at their public opening, but Stiles isn't as worried about that as he was about tonight. 

John Stilinski is out of rehab now, and surprisingly did not fall directly off the wagon. He actually listened to Stiles when he told him why they can't just go back to how things were. Maybe the therapist Peter found them is working, or maybe Peter had an honest heart-to-heart with John, but either way, John is doing well. He's still at the halfway house, but he's set to leave sooner than they thought. Peter found him a legit job working with a private investigator rather than security somewhere, and the difference has been surprising. 

John likes what he's doing. He's set to move into his own apartment. Stiles and he are talking regularly, but John's expectations of playing family again have been readjusted without a lot of drama.

Stiles is certain it wouldn't have gone so smoothly without Peter.

The party tonight is for pack, for Family. Stiles wasn't sure at first what that would mean, like maybe there would be business deals going on or conversations about who needs to get whacked. He's seen a lot of mafia movies, okay? But it's not like that. It's a lot like a family reunion, actually, and Stiles is treated as some kind of honored guest. But not a guest, not exactly, because…

"You're part of the pack now, Stiles," Talia Hale tells him. She's wearing a gold dress that she manages to make classy. On anyone else, it would look cheap. On Talia Hale, it's elegant. Stiles is trying not to act like a tongue-tied idiot around her, but she's the head of the biggest crime family in California. He's not sure if he should bow his head when he talks to her or show his throat. He ends up doing neither, but he does try to be respectful in other ways.

"Thank you," he answers. "Um, I don't know what that means, though."

She smiles and pats him on the shoulder. "I know this is new to you, but you're doing well so far. I've never seen Peter so happy."

"He makes me happy, too," Stiles says softly. His eyes roam across the room to where Peter is, and finds his mate's eyes already on him. He's smiling. Stiles smiles back, feeling suddenly shy.

There are so many people here, people who are important to Peter, and Stiles hopes he's not making a fool of himself.

"Yes, I can tell," Talia says fondly. "Come here, I haven't given you a proper hug."

Not something you want to turn down. 

Talia hugs like a mom. She smells good, too, not like Claudia had but somehow similar. Stiles finds himself clinging just a bit to prolong the embrace, and Talia doesn't seem put out, just goes with it.

Stiles pulls away, blushing, stammering. "I- I'm sorry, I just. You just."

Talia smiles at him. She runs a hand over his head; she's scenting him, he knows. "You can get a hug any time."

Stiles nods quickly, a lump in his throat. He doesn't know why he's so emotional right now.

"Why don't you and Peter leave early? I can handle this bunch," Talia says, a twinkle in her eye.

"Thank you," Stiles says, and turns to see Peter is already coming their way.

Peter hugs his sister, kisses her cheek, and then turns to Stiles. "Okay?"

"Yeah," Stiles says, and sniffles a little to show just how fine he is. It's ridiculous, but he's feeling overwhelmed by everything suddenly. "Let's go home?"

* * *

Home for now is Peter's penthouse, though they've talked a little about getting a house. Down the line, Stiles knows he wants kids. Not yet, not while he's so young, but later. And a house is better for kids, he's always thought. It's not that the penthouse is too extravagant, it's just that it's not what Stiles thinks of when he hears the word 'home'. 

But then again, he's sure home is wherever Peter is. 

"Did you have a good time tonight?" Peter wants to know.

Stiles smiles. "Yeah. It got a little overwhelming with all the well-wishes, but I think I handled it okay."

"Everyone wants you to know you're welcome," Peter tells him. "What you saw tonight was the pack being restrained. Except Talia, she scented you properly."

"You mean everyone there wanted to scent me, too?" Stiles asks incredulously.

"Only a little," Peter says. He smiles and takes Stiles by the hand, leading him into the bedroom. "Only Talia has the right to be so blatant about it. And me, of course."

"I think you should scent me blatantly all the time," Stiles tells him.

Peter throws his head back and laughs. "You don't think I do it enough already?"

Stiles pretends to think. "Wellll. I can think of some more things you could be doing. You know, to make sure everyone is a hundred percent certain I'm yours."

Peter's eyes flash blue, giving Stiles a thrill of anticipation. He knows what he's doing. Peter pulls him closer so that their body's are flush. "You don't think they know already?"

"Nothing wrong with hammering the point home," Stiles says with a grin.

"Oh, is that how it is?" Peter murmurs. Then he kisses Stiles hard, hungrily, and Stiles clings to him because holding on is all he can do once Peter gets like this.

They're both wearing suits, so it would stand to reason that it'd take longer to get naked. So Stiles is a little surprised at how quickly Peter strips him down. It's thrilling to be naked while Peter's fully dressed, especially when he's wearing what Stiles likes to think of as one of his 'power suits'. 

And of course, Peter knows exactly what Stiles likes. They may still be learning the finer points of what turns each other on, but they have the basics down. Stiles likes it when Peter takes control, though it took some trust to get there. 

"You're so beautiful," Peter murmurs against Stiles's chest. "My beautiful mate."

Stiles thinks he's still too skinny, but with Peter mouthing words of encouragement and praise against his skin, it's hard to remember that. Peter makes him feel beautiful and clever. He tells him how lucky he is to have found Stiles, how much he loves him.

So far, Stiles has been a little too wary to tell Peter how he feels. But he's going to tell him tonight. Say the words, at least. He thinks he's let him know in other ways, in the past weeks. But the words are important, too.

Peter certainly has no trouble with words, and Stiles loves it.

"You drive me crazy, baby. I wanted you all night. You looked so good in that suit, but all I could think about was getting you out of it," Peter says. He scrapes blunt teeth against one of Stiles's nipples.

Stiles moans and arches, wanting more of the same. Peter gives it to him. Peter gives him everything.

"Want you so much, Peter. Please. Need you," Stiles says breathlessly.

Usually, Peter draws it out. Kisses him all over, sucks his cock, his balls, or flips him over to eat his ass until Stiles is a helpless mess of desire and need. Tonight, as soon as Peter undresses, he grabs the lube and starts stretching Stiles immediately, all the while kissing and urging him higher with his words.

"You're always so perfect for me, sweetheart. Can't wait to be inside you. You were made for me, for taking me."

Stiles is on his back so the position means he's holding his knees and spreading wide for Peter, showing him everything. He looks down and sees Peter's hand working at him, and then Peter brushes against his prostate. It's a jolt of pleasure, and Stiles would normally be very happy to let Peter finger-fuck him until he comes, but tonight he needs more. He's craving it. 

"Peter, I need your cock. Get inside me. We just fucked this morning, I don't need this much prep, come _on_," Stiles whines.

Peter growls and lines up. He doesn't tease like he usually does, just pops the head right inside Stiles's hole and then thrusts in.

Stiles gasps at the sudden intrusion and Peter stills. Stiles situates his legs over Peter's shoulders and nods quickly. "Yes. Fuck me. Peter, come on, give it to me."

"You got it," Peter says with a grin, and then he begins to thrust. Not slow, not careful, but hard and fast and unerringly _right_. He hits Stiles's prostate perfectly and Stiles makes an embarrassing, punched-out sound every time.

"More," Stiles manages to pant out. And Peter gives it to him. Stiles is so close already, but they just started. He gets his hand on his cock and it feels so _good_, but he ignores the pleasure to squeeze the base so he doesn't come immediately.

Peter growls again and takes Stiles's hand away. He pins Stiles's hands above his head. "Keep them there. You think… you think I don't want you to come? You'll come on my cock and then I'll keep fucking you until you come again."

Stiles lets out a high-pitched whine. Peter turns his head and kisses what skin he can reach. 

"Come on, sweetheart. Come for me. Show me how much you love my cock in you," Peter says.

Stiles obeys. Just like that. His eyes shut or roll back or something, and all he can see is white. He checks out for a few moments, just feeling the waves of pleasure rocking his body, and Peter is true to his word. He keeps fucking Stiles through it, and when Stiles is able to focus again, he sees Peter is grinning at him, looking victorious and determined to keep at it until he can fuck another orgasm out of Stiles.

Stiles isn't sure he has it in him at first, but Peter coaxes his cock back to full hardness and talks to him, tells him how good he is.

Not just how good, but how proud Peter is, and how much he loves him, and Stiles looks up into his face and is overwhelmed with love.

"I don't know if I can come again," Stiles gasps, but even as he says it, he knows it's a lie. Peter plays Stiles's body now like it's his own. 

"You're going to," Peter tells him. "You're close, I can smell it. Don't you feel it?"

And yeah, Stiles does, especially with Peter stroking his cock in time with his thrusts. 

Stiles just needs something more. He wants Peter to feel just as out of control as he does.

"Don't you want me on my knees?" Stiles asks. "Don't you just want to cover me and fuck into me harder and deeper? I want that. I want you to get on top of me, fuck me like that, hold my hips and mark me up. I want you to-"

He can't say more because Peter is already manhandling him into position. Stiles finds himself on his knees, and he pushes his ass up in the air so that Peter has better access, grinning to himself.

Peter growls, the loudest he's been, and then he's pushing into Stiles again and it's deep, hard, and so perfect. 

"Yes, like that, fuck me, Peter!"

Peter is rough now, rougher than he's been in the past. He's making a low, animalistic noise with every thrust, and they're starting to get a little erratic and Stiles can feel himself hurtling toward his own completion because Peter is doing that, Peter's losing himself in Stiles's body and it's everything Stiles wants.

He can feel Peter's fingertips bruising his hips. There will be definite hand-shaped marks there tomorrow, and Stiles can only feel pride at the thought.

"Need you to come," Stiles gasps. "Come in me. C'mon, Peter, I need it."

"Yes," Peter snarls.

Stiles clenches around Peter's cock as best he can, and Peter just about howls at this new development. If Stiles wasn't about to lose it himself, he'd smirk.

Peter slams in hard and comes, and the noise he makes is enough to make Stiles come, too. They collapse together down onto the bed.

Peter stays where he is for a long moment, until Stiles playfully complains about the weight on his back.

Afterward, Peter manages to get out of bed to fetch a cloth. He cleans Stiles up, but probably misses a few spots intentionally. He seems to really like his scent on Stiles, and Stiles is okay with that.

They cuddle once they're clean, and for once Stiles doesn't even mind the extra heat. He's too exhausted to hate it, and he wants to be close to Peter.

He looks into Peter's soft eyes and says, "I really love you. So much."

Peter's eyebrows go up. "You don't have to say it if you're not ready."

"Did you hear a lie in my words?" Stiles asks.

"No, but-"

"No. I love you. I just wanted to let you know. Okay?"

Peter smiles and nuzzles his hair. "I love you, too."

Stiles still has some doubts about himself and he's still kind of ashamed of the stuff in his past. But it's in his past, and Peter is his future. He doesn't really need to worry about much more than that.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you liked the story!


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